


but i would walk 500 miles (and i would walk 500 more)

by jemmasleopold



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 05:24:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmasleopold/pseuds/jemmasleopold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Fitz celebrates his birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but i would walk 500 miles (and i would walk 500 more)

**Author's Note:**

> \+ this crap fic is all because i did not know today was fitz's bday so i had to make him SOMETHING
> 
> \+ this might become a part of a new series i'd start based off sleeping at last's covers
> 
> \+ idk yet tho since i have 97 MORE FICS TO WRITE FOR MY FIRST ONE
> 
> \+ anyway enjoy
> 
> \+ and hbd to our lovely leopold fitz!!!! who is currently celebrating his birthday alone (^: isn't that nice (^:
> 
> \+ song: i'm gonna be (500 miles) by sleeping at last

It's his birthday and he doesn't know what he hates more: the fact that he has the team here or the fact that he doesn't have _Jemma_ here to celebrate with him. Coulson said today was his off day, today was everybody's off day, and that they were going to spend it the right way.

How were they to do that when _she_ wasn't here?

And they were taking a break from doing what he would much rather be doing today, and that was searching for Jemma. Rather than donned a sparkly birthday hat by Skye, rather than being given a cactus cooler by Bobbi and a monkey-shaped piñata by Hunter brimming with Tootsie Rolls (because it was the only thing he could buy on such short notice, to which his ex-wife firmly responded with a smack to the upside of his head), rather than having an electrical show put on for him by Lincoln, rather than being given a copy of Coulson's keys to Lola, rather than being given firm pats on the back by Mack and May.

Who he wanted to see was Jemma, and most likely, Jemma only. It angered him that they were spending another round of their birthdays separated because of, get this, a rock this time. He couldn't take this. How unbelievably unrealistic this entire situation was and becoming, and how Jemma would have said the same thing. No, only she would have said it. With her obvious absence came a burden for him of not only a sickening feeling in his stomach that he might not ever get her back, but also the responsibility as the only senior scientist at the base. He wasn't particularly shy around the things he usually despised in the presence of Simmons now, but the disgusted feeling still lingered from remnants of an old Fitz.

About a couple of hours ago he'd been ushered into the completely vacant lab by Skye and Lincoln, their only words that he "stay put or be put," in the words of Skye but by the actions of Lincoln. After what Fitz had done to Gordon, there was still miles of rocky territory in between them, but in time he knew they'd warm up to each other, just as Jemma had done with Mack.

Or at least, that was his original thought.

For now, though, there was still plenty of room for them to throw a few conflicting punches, and by the various looks Lincoln had shot him before they left, he wasn't going to back down, despite what was going on. Hopefully Skye could soften them, if need be.

Now he's in the main room, sat on the black couch that was still around even now. A cake with a whopping 28 candles was on the coffee table before him, and their flickering flames reflected in each of his teammates' eyes. There was a joy in them all, one unfazed by the circumstances, no matter who they belonged to.

He wanted to blow them out. He really did. He wanted to make them happy, be the Fitz he used to be for once. Let Hunter and Bobbi and Lincoln and especially Mack see a former shell of the man that was him put on a facade for this single time only, and experience for themselves the one they had only heard about in stories told in this same room, but with liquor instead of confectionary.

It made him sick. But the fire was extinguished anyway. May cut it, of course, served a slice to each of them with equal and perfect divisions that were no short of a surprise from the Cavalry herself, and they all ate happily. Fitz played the part. He laughed, he sang, he took hold of the bat with calloused hands and the grip one primarily for soft thighs, and he swung with the velocity of thrusts, the friction of skin touching skin. He lifted the blindfold and watched as it rained cheap, expired candy, the muscles around his mouth beginning to ache and the crinkles behind his eyes too sharp against the rigor of his vision. Tugged down by Skye, he collected a piece or two, scrabbling for the few that littered the rough surface of the concrete floor against Hunter’s bulk and Lincoln’s shocks.

Later on, he’d open more presents. The rather large set of down comforters May had gifted him confused him genuinely until he got _the look,_ and he was actually fortunate for them. But the fact that she was assuming that there’d be a time and place to use these made his heart sink. But he tucked them back into the large blue gift bag they had first been in like he was supposed to. Hurting her - of all people’s - feelings was the last thing he wanted to do on this shite day.

The last thing they did was gather back together, in the kitchen this time, and they finally ate dinner. It was Fitz’s call, of course, so they were pulling out the prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella faster than you could say “just a hint.” That being said, they never perfected _her_ pesto aioli. It was nerve-wracking, not breaking down in front of everyone because he couldn’t get a bloody recipe right.

So Hunter passed out beers, with the most perkiest grin in the universe. Fitz would have thought it would have split his head in half. Skye and Lincoln checked out the earliest, the girl on his back and two bottles in tow as he jogged down the corridor behind the glass walls and into the depths of the Playground. Unsurprisingly Coulson left a couple of seconds later, saying he was heading to his office when everyone knew it was upstairs. After a bit of quiet talk May soon took leave as well, most likely to fetch the Director and not have him interfering with whatever the two inhumans were doing right about now. Maybe he could give the blankets to them. He’d need a few months, though.

Mack lumbered off mumbling about video games, shooting both Fitz and Hunter invitations that the latter quickly reclined after a quick glance at Bobbi. The man looked to him, and he gave him a curious shrug, unsure as to where to go from here. He was mostly focused on his drink at the moment, so he merely nodded and set out.

Lance finally shuffled off, gaze undeniably on Bobbi the entire time as he loitered at the edge of the window, as if he knew that him lying in his bed nude waiting for her was a possibility tonight, but she simply waved him off with a hand and mouthed a “I swear I’ll be there,” and finally he was gone.

“You don’t have to stay with me,” he muttered with an unintentional darkness to it, and blanched upon hearing his own voice and the way it sounded. Bobbi remained unaffected, however, fortunately for him, and simply stepped forward, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder to gain his attention.

“I know I don’t,” she replied, searching his gaze with soft eyes and furrowed eyebrows. Almost studying him.

“You should go see her.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. They parted ways, and Fitz tried to keep his gait steady, but it soon broke into a full-out run the second the line of windows merged into brick. He was flying down the halls, nearly missing the green door lined with yellow tape and slamming into the wall at the end. He hastily made his way in, the lights dimmed and the box shuttled into a depressing-looking corner rather than in the center, like a throne. A very possessive throne at that.

He hesitantly approached it, digits instinctively tangling through each other and wringing out to a pale, almost sickly color, as his nervous gaze flitted across the smooth-looking texture of the monolith encasing _her_.

He was… afraid. Afraid to confront a bloody rock. Before he knew it he was stuffing his hands into the pocket holding the rubber-like candy and ripping the blasted thing open, shoving into his mouth two or three of them and chewing with a tensity that wasn’t exactly helping to decompress himself. He had no idea what he was doing, no idea what to do, and no idea what to do after.

Then, the tears came. He was a fucking mess. He hadn’t slept in weeks, and god only knew what had gone into his system last, save the cake and the chocolate. Was he even going to do anything? Choking back both his tears and the Tootsie Rolls, he uttered a number of seven words before retreating, too overcome by the fear of screwing up everything in front of a _rock_.

"Jemma, I wished that you'd come back."

A month later, she answered his call.

 


End file.
